


we're up all night

by dogeared



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 3b, Comfort, Community: picfor1000, Developing Relationship, M/M, Pack Feels, Season/Series 03 Spoilers, with bonus nuzzling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-10
Updated: 2014-02-10
Packaged: 2018-01-11 19:54:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1177249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogeared/pseuds/dogeared
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles feels slow and foggy, and just for a second, he panics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we're up all night

Stiles calls shotgun, but Scott wrestles him into the backseat anyway, sandwiches Stiles between himself and Kira. It means that Derek's driving alone in the front, but he has the radio on, a low murmur that Stiles can barely make out over the hum of the road but that Derek can probably hear just fine. Kira's soft and she smells good, and Scott's a dependable wall of unwavering bro-love, and it all feels so warm and safe and familiar, feels so much like a full-body hug, that Stiles sags into it, drowsy and comfortable.

He wakes up when the car stops. It was dark when they left, and it's still dark out now; it must be really late, or really early. Derek turns in his seat to look at them over his shoulder, says, "We're here."

Kira yawns and pats Stiles's head absently, like he's a puppy who did well on his first car ride, and then she and Scott extricate themselves and start lugging bags into the sprawling cabin and calling dibs on their bedrooms. Stiles follows them inside long enough to take a leak and splash some icy water on his face. 

Lydia and Allison and Isaac are driving up tomorrow, and his dad's going to try to come up with Scott's mom for the weekend, if he can get away. A whole week in the mountains, thanks to Derek's credit card, to commune with nature and be surrounded by the people who love him (plus Isaac—whatever). Not that anyone put it in quite those words, but Stiles gets it, and he has zero complaints. Bring on the board games and the group hugs and someone making a vat of chili con carne.

Scott yells, "G'night!" from some far corner, and Stiles sticks his head out into the hallway and calls back, "Sleep tight, buddy!" at the same time as Kira says, "Don't let the bedbugs bite!" There's some distant rustling, and then the cabin settles back into quiet.

Derek's still outside, leaning against the car, his chin tipped up to watch the sliver of bright white moon. The night's so clear that the sky is overwhelmed with stars, and it's dizzying, the whole universe spinning above their heads. Stiles feels tiny, and he's weirdly grateful to stumble and be caught by Derek's solid, reassuring Derekness.

"You heading to bed?"

"I'm not sure I can sleep," Stiles admits. "Not in a bad way—just slept too much in the car. Must have been all that NPR you were listening to." Stiles grins, tries to show Derek he's okay. He knows Derek still worries about him, knows they all do, and Stiles concentrates on projecting waves of contentment, his heart full and whole. 

When Derek doesn't make any move to go inside, Stiles tucks his hands into his pockets and stays where he is, leans against Derek's shoulder to ground himself and looks up and up and up into the night sky.

There's a porch swing, and they sit there when Stiles gets tired of standing and complains about a crick in his neck. 

"Nothing's going to get us out here, right?" he says. He'd like to think an encounter with a mountain lion would be pretty ordinary compared to what they're usually dealing with, but he's definitely not interested in tempting fate. 

"You, maybe," Derek says, and Stiles wriggles closer, says, "Ha, ha. Just for that, I'm letting it eat you first."

It's cold and still, just the stars and the creak of the swing and Derek warm all along his right side. He must drift off again, because the next thing he knows, Derek's nudging him gently and saying, "Hey, Stiles. Sun's coming up."

He feels slow and foggy, and just for a second, he panics. The best way Stiles could come up with to describe it—being possessed, being _not himself_ —was that it felt like being socked in by the thickest, densest fog you could imagine. Everything else, everyone else, disappeared, and he was lost in the center of it, stifled and choking and alone. Beacon Hills doesn't get fog like that, but Stiles remembers a trip to San Francisco with his mom and dad when he was six or seven, remembers watching it roll over the city, cool and eerie and unstoppable. He's said the same thing to his dad, to Scott and the pack and Ms. Morrell—everyone he's had to talk to about it over and over and over again in the days since.

That's not what this is, though. Stiles is safe, curled into Derek, who probably stayed awake all night watching over him. His chest doesn't feel tight, but open. He flails himself upright and takes in the view they didn't even know was there when they drove up in the dark. He can see for miles—hills and valleys and wilderness, the blue smudge of a lake in the distance. Everything's dry and crisp, the air almost painfully sharp and clear. 

And then the sun crests the horizon, and it's so bright that it makes Stiles's eyes water. He stares at it until he can't anymore, until he's blinking away blind spots. 

He can feel the weight of Derek's gaze, heavy and assessing, watching him instead of the sunrise, and he scrubs at the wetness on his cheeks. Stiles is a little embarrassed that he made Derek spend a whole night keeping vigil on a porch swing while he had his own face mashed into Derek's stupid soft shirt. But Derek's eyes are bright, too; they're warm and understanding. He leans close, grazes his nose over Stiles's temple, nuzzles with his bristly cheek and chin, murmurs against Stiles's skin, "It's early. You want to get some more sleep?"

Stiles's heart thumps. He takes a deep breath and feels his lungs and his ribcage expand. He's here; he's okay. He kind of thinks he might like to hold Derek's hand. He says, "Yeah, in a minute," and reaches out.


End file.
